


Lullaby

by jawsandbones



Series: Ficlits [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Love, Smut, Tender Sex, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 05:37:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12269970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawsandbones/pseuds/jawsandbones
Summary: It’s that one floorboard that betrays him. She smiles when she hears the creak of it, leans into his embrace. His arms wrap around her, her back against his chest, and he buries his face in the crook of her neck. Reaching up with her free hand, scratching lightly at the crown of his head. “Good morning,” she says softly, and Fenris gives her a tender squeeze in reply. His eyes are closed again, open only to bring him to her. Breathing in the scent of her, taking in the heat of her.“You woke early,” he says, voice still hoarse with sleep.“Or you’re just waking up late,” she teases, earning her a single grunt.





	Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> **Recommended Listening** : [Beth's Theme - Olafur Arnalds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pmKkaCKWreM)

The clouds grey the city, overcast and dull, gentle rain playing out its song against the window. Drops that mingle, stream together, cascade over glass and stone. She watches this symphony, the distant drum of thunder, the brighter crack of lightning. The embers still cling to life in the fireplace around that breaking wood, ash a rainfall all its own. The mug sits hot in her hand, tea still steaming, and she pulls up the falling shoulder of her robe. Taking a tentative sip, shifting from one foot to another.

It’s that one floorboard that betrays him. She smiles when she hears the creak of it, leans into his embrace. His arms wrap around her, her back against his chest, and he buries his face in the crook of her neck. Reaching up with her free hand, scratching lightly at the crown of his head. “Good morning,” she says softly, and Fenris gives her a tender squeeze in reply. His eyes are closed again, open only to bring him to her. Breathing in the scent of her, taking in the heat of her.

“You woke early,” he says, voice still hoarse with sleep.

“Or you’re just waking up late,” she teases, earning her a single grunt. Hawke is lavender and lilac with him, open and relaxed, distant from who she is as Champion. He knows every stitch of her armor. The thread that threatens to pull on her left leg, the buckle of her gauntlet that sometimes sticks. The hidden chainmail under leather and cloth, the spiked metal that’s perhaps just for show. She hates the belt around her waist, loves the fur hood more than she should. He knows every clasp and every strap, every thought that went into crafting it. He’s still learning the skin of her.

A hand that finds the edge of her robe, with that loosely tied knot. So easily does it come undone, so easily does it part, exposing that line of her. Not that he can see. She’s leaning against him a little harder, he’s listening to that sudden hitched breath as fingertips find flesh. She thinks he might feel the ever present butterflies as his hand moves over her belly, flattening against her. A thumb brushes over that long scar, such a pale thing now. “Hawke,” he murmurs.

“Are you going to at least let me put my tea down?” She asks. A small nibble at her skin, a kiss to her nape, warm breath at her ear before he’s taking the mug from her hands. She mourns the loss of his touch as he takes it to the desk, but appreciates the curve of him – the line of his back, the proud width of his shoulders. He turns to face her, a predator to prey, the look in his eyes twisting inside her belly, pooling heat between her thighs. He stalks toward her, cocky and assured, resting his hands on her hips.

The robe is an impediment, a barrier, tugging at it until it falls to the floor around their feet. She finds the tips of his shoulders with her fingertips, running gentle hands over his skin. Linking arms behind his neck, running fingers through his hair as she pulls him closer. Pressing the tip of his nose against hers, hand splaying at the small of her back. She’s blue and bright, eyes clearer than the sky has ever been, and he traces the constellation of her freckles with his thumb. She leans into his touch, cheek against his palm, smiling and closing her eyes.

There was wasted time between them, of longing look and lingering touch, desperate words and a yearning he could not describe. For three years, he has denied himself the comfort of her. He has known unwelcome touch. Hands placed upon his body, hands that believed they had a right to be there. Stripping away all that he was, leaving a _thing_ in its place. Hawke has taken the pieces of him – broken in a way she could not know, fragile in places he could not see – given them back to him. She is careful permission and gentle choice, an asking, a request, a question he can only say yes to.

They sway together, and he’s moving her, walking them back until she’s leaning against the sill of the window. Capturing her mouth with his, her fingers tracing the shell of his ear. Her mouth is warm and wet, the taste of the tea still on her tongue. He hungers for more, the taste underneath, and tongue touches tongue. Quickened breath as he deepens the kiss, presses his body against hers. Gasping as they pull apart and Hawke falters, wanting more. He savors the blush on her cheeks, the flush in her chest. She licks her lips, whispering “ _please_.”

He is looking at her eyes, looking at her lips, lost in the light of her. She’s framed by that grey, and she is all color and splendor. “Please,” she says again, reaching to curl a strand of his hair around her finger, to let it slip, to brush her hand against his cheek. Following the line of his jaw, running down his neck, touching him for the sake of him. His hands tighten at her hips, one moving upwards, feeling the perfect weight of her breast in his hands. All at once he surges forward, and she murmurs muffled surprise into the kiss.

She soon relaxes into it, eyes slowly closing, mouth opening to him. He plants a lighter one on top of it, and another, and another, finding it hard to pull away. Forcing her to tilt her head upwards as his teeth nip at her neck, as he kisses the mark he leaves. Another at the hollow of her throat, pinching a nipple between two fingers. There’s a hunger in him he cannot deny, a relief he finds in knowing her. He’s slowly going to his knees, memorizing his way down.

The freckles that dot her shoulders, the birthmark on her ribs. The small swell of her breasts, the valley between them so lightly dotted, gently colored. The pale lines of scars, and he knows each and every one. She’s whispering something he cannot hear as he kisses the mark the Arishok left on her body, his hands holding tightly to her hips. There’s something nervous in the way she moves, brittleness in the look she gives him. It’s as though she’s ashamed of his scar, and it makes him kiss it all the more.

Running hands up and down her legs, feeling the muscle of her, the quiet strength that lurks beneath. Her knuckles are white as they wrap around the sill, as his mouth finds the soft tuft of hair that covers her mound. He looks up at her, and the red on her cheeks deepens. She’s biting her bottom lip, opening her legs shyly. A strangled noise in her throat as his tongue finds her clit, as his eyes close, as he breathes her in. Here she is all strawberries, red and ripe, ready to be plucked and tasted. “Fen, I – _mmhhnn_ ,” is all she can manage.

Legs anxious and restless, writhing around him as he eats at her. He runs a finger through wet folds, kneads it against her entrance. Teasing and feeling her twist, a shaking hand on his head, running through his hair. Her back is against the window, all cold condensation but she can barely feel it. Tilting her head back, mouth falling open, his name on her lips as he presses that finger inside. Breathing heavy, breasts shaking, and he’s taking care to listen to each noise he draws from her.

It still doesn’t feel real. That he has _her_. Rising to his feet, and she is reaching for him, trading breath for breath. Her hands between them, wrapping around his cock. A hand running against her thigh, lifting it with him, fingertips hard against her flesh. Looking at each other as she aligns the head of him against her cunt, a hand brushing against her cheek as he kisses her, as he slowly buries himself inside her. Her legs wrap around him, toes curling. His arms around her, hugging tightly.

For Hawke, sex is a celebration. It’s taking delight in the other, respite in the touch, and solace in the kiss. Close where they cannot be closer, a promise, a pact, the vow unbroken. Reassurance in every feeling, wholly intimate and uniquely quiet. Observance in flesh and bone, heat in the blood and triumph in the act. Fenris thinks he might be drowning, lost inside her, unable to know where he ends and she begins. An utter need, a thorough want, bodies melting together. Hands at his face, another kiss, and he knows she is his freedom.

Lifting her, hands underneath her, carrying her with him to the bed. Stretching out above her, her hands traveling the length of his back. A kiss and then another as he thrusts inside, toes pressing into the bed as he moves forward, her legs around his waist. She’s brushing hair behind his ears, kissing every space of him she can find. Against his cheeks, his nose, his lips, her hips moving in time with his, a rhythm without equal. “I love you,” he says, “my Hawke.” And yes, she is undeniably his. From before, and even before then, before he even knew her name.

“Fenris,” she says, stroking his face, running through his hair, over shoulder blade and back, over and over, unable to settle, loving every bit of him. “Fen,” rubbing her nose against his, capturing his lips with a kiss, humming happiness. “Fen,” as his forehead presses against hers, as he closes his eyes, as his breath quickens. “I love you,” soft as fingertips run along his spine, as his weight falters against her, as he shudders and spends himself. Holding him as he rests above her, as Fenris catches his breath.

Shifting off of her, and they’re both lying on their side, face to face. Hands that tangle in each other, legs that wind together. He smooths back her hair, those stubborn strays, kisses the tip of her nose. Hawke smiles as she wraps a hand around his wrist, as she pulls herself as close as she can. Sliding an arm underneath her, and they are a labyrinth of limbs, unable to be apart. Once, he thought he might die alone. Once, he might never have known what freedom tasted like, what it is to give willing chain. She is his home, the place he belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3 You can find me [@jawsandbones](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/)


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